Half a day at KIMS


It is almost a month since the junior son fractured his wrist. It is now time to have the plaster cast removed. So off go the Mom and son to KIMS. That’s Kerala Institute of Medical Science for you. It is a long drive from home. They make it in good time. Having completed the formalities at the reception, Mom glances at the slip of paper she has been given. ‘Token number 3’ it says. Ahhh, this will be done soon and Junior can be off to his college, thinks the Mom the innocent babe-in-the-woods that she is. She congratulates herself on successfully waking the sleepy-head of a junior son and making an early start.

The doctors make their appearance only at 10 a.m. The waiting room is still empty save for a couple of middle aged men. How different the waiting room looks and smells from those of an earlier era. ‘And where are the pretty angels of mercy in their white frocks, the short ones at that??’ the wistful eyes of the men seem to suggest as they watch a few of the ‘angels’ flit by in their uniform trousers and shirts.

Slowly the room fills up. Most of the arrivals have various types of plaster cast. There is a small child of about three who has his left hand in a cast. His mother smiling and cheerful tries to cheer the obviously tense child with loving words. Grandma is also there to lend a helping hand. There is a teenaged boy who walks in with the help of crutches. A middle aged lady sits in a wheel chair, her foot in bandages. There are many more with obvious and not so obvious difficulties.

An hour passes. Mom and son are bored now. ‘I should have brought that book!’ Mom tells son. ‘Too late now. The doctor will be here soon’ replies son. Mom sighs and decides to follow son’s example and immerse herself in music. Both now have their ear-phones plugged in and are enjoying the music, son from his ipod and Mom from her mobile. As is usual, something strikes the Mom and she smiles to herself.

Mom (turning to son with a mischievous glint in her eyes, adding to the already existing glint from the light reflecting off her silver-capped pre-molars): “Do you know what must be going through the heads of the rest of them here??” (inclines head to the rest of the waiting crowd)

Son,: (pulling out ear-phone from the ear nearest to Mom with a questioning look): “What??”

Mom: (trying to keep a straight face) They must be thinking, ‘How sad! Both the mother and son seem to be hearing impaired!!’

Son: (laughs, shoulders shaking in silent mirth)

Mom (thoughtfully, valiantly sticking to the straight face): They probably think its hereditary!!”

Mom and son now dissolve into helpless laughter much to the mystery and indulgent amusement of the waiting crowd

At last the doctor makes his appearance. Soon now, thinks the Mom, yep, still the babe-in-the-woods. She is getting impatient. She is pining for her blog-world of which she has not had a glimpse due to her busy schedule. Newcomers are walking in, being shown into the doctor’s room and walking out. At token number three, Mom and son are still waiting their turn with the rest of the crowd in the waiting room. This is puzzling. The wait goes on for an interminable 2 hours. Now son turns to Mom.

Son (pointing to the FRCS (UK) and DNB (Swiss) tags written below the doctor’s name): What do they mean??

Mom (thinking what a dud her 19 year old son is): That he got his FRCS from UK and the other degree from Switzerland.

Son (thoughtfully pointing to another name-plate): Do you mean to say that he got his MS from Ortho and those other string of letters from Hand??

Mom (startled looks to where son points, finds MS (Ortho) and ‘string of letters’ (Hand) written below the doctor’s name)

Mom laughs as son joins, while perplexity level of the waiting crowd rises.

The hospital administration seems to have a great sense of humor, decides the Mom. They have thoughtfully and prominently displayed boards that the patient patients and those accompanying them are forced to stare at while awaiting their turn, if you are not attended to in 45 minutes, you may take up the case with the authorities, they say. When you object you are helpfully told ‘You should have taken an appointment!’ Oh golly, now I get it! You take an appointment and then you will be attended to within 45 minutes. How naïve of me!! And why aren’t we told when we are given slips with ‘token number 3’ written ever so grandly that we’ll be seen by the doctor only if there is a cancellation or gap between appointments?? Oh that!! They shrug their shoulders as if it’s a minor matter. Where can I complain?? Mom asks. Another shrug. Second level, PRO’s office says by the now indifferent front desk. Luckily for everyone concerned ‘token number 3’ is the next one to be ushered in. Doc takes a look. Time for the cast to go. Instructions are given about taking care of the wrist in the coming weeks.

Tired and hungry, Mom and son rush back to where the car has been parked only to find the Omni boxed in by cars parked on all four sides. Ahhh, what civic sense people have especially those with the biggest luxury cars!! Luckily one has a chauffeur asleep in it and Mom wakes him up. He obligingly moves his vehicle a little backwards. Now she has to do some skillful maneuvering, egged on helpfully by a couple or more of friendly chauffeurs who have joined the scene. There is a coconut tree on one side, a Chevrolet Optra on the other and just enough space to squeeze through in between. Gulp!! The helpful strangers enthusiastically chip in with their bit. “A little to the left, …now straight, no worries, keep your wheel straight, ….good, good…. Keep on going…” She makes it, phew! and drives home to some well-deserved lunch and a dekko at what the rest of the bloggers have been up to in her absence.


Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com

I am a cipher…

I am a cipher

You try to decipher

To find your answer

My love, come closer

Take off your glasses

Look deep into my eyes

They hold the keys

That unlocks the codes.

See the wild roses

The haunting demons

The changing seasons

The heart’s reasons

Thorns that prick

What makes me tick

The castles I build

Dreams distilled

Loneliness that chills

Love that fills

Pride that kills

Silence that stills

Captive words

Like caged birds

Useless wings

Mere broken strings

Strange tunes to which I dance

Melody that holds me in a trance

Smoke signals that make me cry

And those that make me fly

The magic carpet I ride

The wind on whom I rely

Cloud nine where I reside

With you eternally by my side.

I jive to a different tune

Different things make me croon

Can you see that different world

That through my eyes lies unfurled??

Can you hear that different song

That thrills as I trill along??

My love… do you and I differ??

Can you decipher this cipher??

-Shail Mohan (June 2008)

Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com

“Obliged to Harass Sexually”


I am on a blog holiday, not voluntary rather an enforced one, as I don’t have net connection as yet. I was jolted out of this enforced hibernation when I came across a startling bit of news, a revelation of sorts. There I was ensconced in my favorite chair newspaper in hand and my morning cuppa beside me. The usual stuff, strikes, bombings, terrorist activities, killings and such cheerful news greeted me as my eyes scanned the day’s paper. All pretty normal. What a wonderful world we live in, I mused as I went from page to page little realizing what awaited me on page eleven. My jaw dropped in amazement. Disbelieving my eyes, I shook my head to clear it of whatever might inadvertently have been added to my morning cuppa though I must admit I made it myself. I read the bit of news a second time and then a third. It remained the same even after the third read. Hmm….

Sexual harassment okay as it ensures humans breed, Russian judge rules” it said.

Now I bet you didn’t know that!! Frankly neither did I. What stupid idiots we are, the majority of us I mean. It takes someone special and gifted to come along and open our eyes. Makes me wonder what the heck those people all over the world think they are doing fighting sexual harassment??!! Endangering the human species is what they are doing, the ignoramuses!! Do they want humans to follow the dodo into extinction?? Foolish people!! Oh Lord forgive them their ignorance, they know not what they are doing. Just reading what the newspaper said next chilled me to the marrow.

If we had no sexual harassment we would have no children,” the Judge ruled

Omigosh!! Imagine what catastrophe would have resulted from our collective ignorance if not for a learned and eminent Judge like him daring to point out facts of life to the lot of us!! Humans as a race would have disappeared off the face of the Earth. Phew what a scary prospect!

Hmmm…. On second thoughts, I wonder…. is it such a scary one??

When a young girl of 22 is locked out of her office for refusing to have intimate relations with her 47 year old boss and files a case against him, the Judge feels it is alright to throw the case out not due to lack of evidence but because he says, the employer had acted gallantly not criminally. Hmmm… It is not only time for you and me to redefine the word ‘gallant’ but also to understand and accept what a gracious act sexual harassment is. Employers are obliged says the learned Judge, to make passes at female staff, to ensure the survival of the human race. Can it get any nobler than that??

To read the whole news click here

Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com

About being on time….

Some time back I accompanied my Uncle to our family temple, where a pooja was to be performed by one branch of our extended family. We had been given to understand that the pooja would start at 8 a.m. Accordingly, we had started quite early from our homes. On reaching the temple, on time mind you, we found the premises devoid of any member of the family not even those who were local residents. Not even one from the branch that was responsible for the special worship of the day was present. I guess this is not surprising to many of us in India. Aren’t there countless jokes doing the rounds about Indian Standard Time being Indian Stretchable Time?? My uncle then made an observation,

”How much time we waste, by being punctual!”

He had hit the nail on the head. Those of us who are punctual end up wasting a lot of time because of the tardiness of others. We of the being on time fame, take pains to reach a place at the allotted time to find empty spaces staring back at us minus humans of any sort! Minutes and sometimes hours later in saunter the rest of the lot taking their own sweet time, without a care in the world!

This reminds me of an incident that occurred soon after my marriage. I had accompanied my husband, at the time a Captain in the Indian Army, to Ferozepur Cantonment. One day, my brand new husband told me that there was to be a Ladies Club Meet the following day. I had to be ready by 9 a.m. The vehicle for transporting the ladies to the Army Officers’ Institute would be at my doorstep on time and I was not to keep it waiting. It is the junior most officer wife’s honor to be the first to be picked up and the last to be dropped. The vehicle does a lot of crisscrossing due to this. Of course there are senior ladies who sometimes do away with this way of doing things. Then it would be the lady whose house is furthest from the venue who would be picked up first and who would be the last to be dropped.

Getting back to my anecdote, there I was on said morning, ready and waiting, with fifteen minutes to go for the scheduled time of 9 a.m. Having been trained under the Master, my father, who is a stickler for keeping time, it was child’s play to me. Time dragged on past 9a.m. but I found no vehicle at my doorstep!! When it was almost 9-45 a.m., I heard the roar of a vehicle and as it died down, the chatter of the ladies within.

“What happened?” was the first question I put to them.

“Nothing! We are on schedule” was the reply.

You bet I was miffed.

“Why??” I asked my husband when he came home for lunch.

“I wanted you to be on time as women take a long time to dress.” he replied nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah??”

“Civilians are not punctual as a rule!” Another matter-of-fact statement from the Lord and Master.

Oh Yeah???

I proceeded to educate him about this particular civilian who is his father-in-law, who would have the whole family ready and at the railway station at 7 a.m. sharp for a train leaving at 9-30 a.m. I am not exaggerating one bit! Mind you this was in a place and time when traffic jams were unheard of. I had stepped into my husband’s life with 23 years of forever being before time!!! Being on time (or before time??) was second nature to me!! It was in my blood, my very being!

Theeyil kuruthathu veyilahthu vaadumo??” (Loose translation: Can that which is born in fire wilt in the sun??). I asked him.

He got the point alright! To this day, he knows I would be ready at the exact time I have to be. Of course it still it didn’t stop him in subsequent years from popping his head in at regular intervals into the kitchen to remind me of the time like a cuckoo clock!! Sigh!!

Being an army wife punctuality ruled the roost for the next 20 years too. It became even more a part and parcel of me. It became my essence. Yet, now I am trying to unlearn it!

Back to civilian life, I find that being punctual is an utter waste of time, for me!! Perhaps as a kid I hadn’t noticed how much time was being wasted by being before time, what with books to read or imaginary games to be conjured up or even daydreams to be immersed in. As a grown-up when I reach some avenue to find vacant spaces staring back at me most all times, it annoys me no end. I could have finished doing this or that work, I tell myself. I could have read a few more blogs, written a new one or polished and perfected the one already in the pipeline. So on and so forth go my thoughts as I sit twiddling my thumbs. Of course now that it is the age of cell phones, I play games and listen to music. And while I thus sit, in meander the latecomers, leisurely. There is not even an iota of embarrassment on any of the faces who have kept others waiting. They stroll in at an unhurried pace and cheerfully ask,

Eppol vannu??”(When did you reach?). Obviously before you Mister!!

Kurachu neramayo vannittu??” (Been awhile since you have come?), Ha!! I can tell you that to the exact second Madam!!

I once landed at an auditorium at the time mentioned and I found the main doors closed. The cleaners were just finishing!! Sigh! Then there are occasions when you are invited to some houses for religious functions and find the hostess cleaning the front doorstep. If you are invited over for dinner, you better be sure and be late unless you want to find the whole house and its inhabitants in various stages of disarray!! ‘I’ll meet you at 5 p.m.!!’ says someone and after hours of waiting you wonder if she meant 5 p.m. the next day?? When you invite people over, they take their own sweet time arriving and will not even call to tell you they’d be late. Very few seem to respect time.

After some days of this, I knew I had to do something about all this. I started off by leaving my house a bit late so as not to waste any more of my precious time. If someone said, “Be there at 10!” I would be there fifteen minutes past. I felt guilty as hell initially, but found no cause for embarrassment. I have now moved on to going half an hour late. No problems have cropped up as yet. Dare I make the transition, the next step and make it forty-five minutes?? Hmmm… I have to give this some thought.

Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com

Run little girl run and hide…

Run little girl run and hide

Fearful monsters roam outside

Close the windows pull the blinds

Shut the door and stay inside

The swirling mass of inky black

Slimy hands waiting to hack

Evil eyes and dripping fangs

Wicked laughter deafening clangs

Monstrous trees standing tall

Branches spread to scratch and maul

The scary world holds them all

Do not venture out at all.

Lies and Deceit rule with masks

Honesty is taken to task

Friendship fled long ago

Sincerity has nowhere to go.

What is right what is wrong

When Feelings are sold for a song

In our journey Truth derails

And Love remains in misty veils

Life is no beautiful dell

Crawl into your safe hard shell

In your fortress in my heart

Stay alive till we depart.

- Shail Mohan (May 2008)

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Showcased @ sulekha.com. Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com

Funny invites

At most all blogging sites, invites come in a pre-formatted style. Yet, there are those handful of people who prefer to be original and rejecting the words provided helpfully by the blogging site staff, insert their own, giving the invite a personal touch. That’s a sure fire way to get the attention of the invitee and impress him/her in the bargain. Having been blogging for a couple of years now I have had occasion to receive both kinds. Albeit the boring and standard invites from the lazy ones have been the norm rather than the exception, I have received well written original ones with just the right amount of personal touch as well.

What takes the cake are those invites with too much personal touch. Some of them swear eternal love to you and life long friendship (oh give me a break!!) in their invites. Some of them even provide you their cell phone numbers and want you to call them pronto restless to start off on that journey of love and friendship without much ado. Some of the invites are downright funny making you go into paroxysm of giggles helplessly. Thoughtlessly have I sent most all of them to the cyber dustbin, wherever that is, with a click of that all important delete button. It was only much later that the possibilities inherent in some of these weird invites struck me. They would have made excellent forwards to bug all your friends with. Having not yet been hit by senility I can recount a couple of them that I absolutely loved.

One of them had been from this guy who described himself as a photographer. As someone interested in photography, what his interest in grasshoppers was I wouldn’t know. Not of course that grasshoppers are unworthy of being photographed!! Excellent subjects highly worthy of attracting any photographer worth his salt with their antennae (which are almost always shorter than the body and sometimes filamentous), ovipositors (short again), hind femora (typically long and strong and fitted for leaping), membranous hind wings and…. Oh I can go on and on about our beautiful insect friend here. But I gather you get my drift. The grasshopper in no way is an inferior subject of study for a photographer. But funnily enough, this particular one didn’t want to immortalize this insect of the sub order of Caelifera in the order of Orthoptera (Phew, I hope I got that right!) by capturing it with his lens. He wanted to eat it!

Ok, I may just be going overboard when I said that. He didn’t say he wanted to eat it, but rather he was willing to, in this invite he sent. And pray, why was he willing to do that?? If, his invite read, I was not impressed by his blog page, he was willing to swallow a grasshopper, a live one at that! The lengths people go to just for someone to accept an invite amazes me!! I didn’t have the heart to call the boy’s bluff and have him swallow that live grasshopper that fine specimen of insect of the sub order of Caelifera in the order of Orthoptera. I mean, no grasshopper is going to enjoy sailing down the gullet of a human washed down with water, tea or something even stronger. I am quite sure that the poor grasshopper, in all probability hadn’t been consulted beforehand or it even had a say in the matter when tall claims and reckless promises were being made by this smart kid. My heart went out to that fine insect of the, yes, sub order of Caelifera in the order of Orthoptera for having to sacrifice its life for me, for sadly so, impressed by his page I was not. So I quietly slunk away. Shhh…

Now on to another invite. I know I have a bit of astigmatism and with age setting in I have to have my reading glasses on to read the fine print. But, but… as far as I know I have not yet been afflicted with partial blindness. What makes me wonder, you ask?? Most blogging sites have a space assigned for your display picture either on the left, right or centre as the case maybe. I had mine duly posted in said space. The invite that came said that the sender thought I looked beautiful. Awww…. I am hoping that whoever it was he was not afflicted by short-sight, astigmatism, long sight, partial blindness or any other eye affliction. I’d like to think that his vision was puuuurrfffect! Yippeeeee!!

Oh yeah, nothing like a few beautifuls thrown in an invite!! Boosts one’s ego tremendously and makes you float away. That’s why I have this brick, yes red one, tied to my leg at all times, to stay grounded! But this first part is not why I was perturbed about my own eyesight! The invite went on to say that I had a ‘beautiful’ body. That, I must say, had me stumped. I looked and looked at my display picture. I could only see my face, the eyes, nose, lips therein and my tresses, no competition for Rapunzel those tresses, but tresses in their own right. For the life of me I could not see my body. Sob sob. My eyes I realized were much worse than I thought and off I dashed to fix that appointment with the ophthalmologist and to get new glasses!

Now there is this other set of invites that come and are sent to the cyber dustbin. They have a common format that reads, “I looked at your profile and well, I liked what I saw. So, my name is Blah Blah. I think we should be friends. You should check out my other profile, I’m always on over there: http://——————– (my username is blah blah). Then maybe we could chat sometime! Talk to you soon, Blah Blah.” At many blogging sites you have the option of keeping your blogs private, for friends or your network only which is what I had done. All that any stranger could see of my blog page were the lists giving my preferences and the RSS feeds.

I was left wondering what it was that she, (oh it was a she alright or maybe a he in she’s form, who the heck knows!) saw in my profile that impressed her. Then it hit me!! She was impressed seeing the ‘Lists’! She was amazed that I watched Animal Planet, Discovery Channel and such. She thought I was awesome coz I read Wodehouse and love Scarlet Pimpernel. She thought I was the cat’s whiskers coz I listened to Ryan Farish and ABBA. On second thoughts I knew I had been wrong there!! Hmm… then I got it, how could I not have known!! She was impressed by the RSS feeds giving the latest news!! “California under renewed state of emergency” it read that day!! That’s probably when she whooped with joy, cried ‘My Soul-mate!’ and sent me that invite. How sweet!!

The Cryptic Critic

Sometime back I wrote a story. It had a girl, a boy and a motor bike in it with some love and an accident thrown in for good measure to spice things up, like I suppose in n number of other stories doing the rounds. Having written it, I did the next thing any of your normal blogger does on completion of one. I posted it at my site. In walked this boy in his late twenties, who having read my humble effort at telling a tale which I hoped was worthy of being read by the likes of him, pronounced his verdict in no uncertain terms,

“I am not impressed.”

I must say that one sentence of his jolted me rudely out of my complacency. Of course I was glad that this small matter of whom I was trying to impress with my stories was cleared up, as up till then I had been totally ignorant on that count. Hence, when this young man breezed in and expressed his reservations so frankly, I simply had to sit up and take notice. One must at all costs take note of what the critics say. They are what you call sacche dost, your true friends. They point out the flaws in your writing which but for them would have remained a closed book to you, letting you remain smug and probably also snug as the bug in a rug, but an ignorant one at that. And what is the use being smug and snug when there are deficiencies in your written work?? It is from the critics, the salt of the earth, that the you get the necessary feedback for turning out a newer and improved version of the writer in you, something like Shail Writer version 2.3.1.0 or Shail Writer version 4.2.0.0 as the case maybe.

Hence it was with sky-high hopes of upgrading into a new improved edition of me and scaling greater heights that I determinedly moved on to read what the critic had written next. I must confess that my heart beat a wee bit faster in trepidation. Did I have it in me this scope for improvement to overcome the flaws and do whatever it takes to modify myself into the latest version of Shail Writer and impress my critics in the bargain?? Sigh, the challenges life throws at you!!

“So many Tamil films have heroes having bike accidents!” he continued and… concluded!!

Errr… ummm… Excuse me… Was that it??!!!!!

I scratched my head in utter bewilderment and confusion on reading it. Well, I am the first one to admit that I am a dunce of the first order, an out and out duffer. So I was not all that surprised I couldn’t make sense of it at all. Yet, I tried. Many Tamil movies have heroes having bike accidents, says he. Fine, I have no bones to pick with him on that. Errrr…but… was that why he was not impressed with my story?? The thing baffled me and still does for that matter. I have been losing so much hair over this that when people see me nowadays they make pointed references to the miracles the shampoos and hair oils of the present day can achieve.

I tried to look at the matter dispassionately. Actually I am pretty good at this looking-dispassionately-at-things stuff. Countless movies are churned out by Kollywood which has had and still have of course, heroes going vrooom vrooooom on their mo-bikes, having accidents and dying by the handfuls or having accidents and getting saved miraculously also by the handfuls by that soulful song sung by a sobbing heroine if not a continent away at least in the next county. For that matter movies from most states in India, as well as those made in Bollywood, Hollywood (minus the songs, naturally) and for all I know in Timbuktu as well have mo-bikes and accidents woven into the motif. But… but… how the heck did that make my story any less impressive?? Aaaaargh!!

Every respectable writer expects and accepts criticism whether he/she likes it or not. But to have such mysterious criticism chucked at you makes you throw up your hands in despair and give up. Life is nothing but unfair. All you asked of it was some straightforward critiques which offered you a decent chance at reforming yourself. Yet what does it do?? Flings you a cryptic critic!!

Ahh well, one has to be philosophical and make do with what one gets. Being content is the key to a happy life whether you are a blogger or a postman. The postman mind you has to take a lot of criticism from the canines in his daily rounds. They hurl abuses at him, make unkind remarks about his countenance, his dress sense (unfair considering that he is obliged to wear the regulation uniform) and even make fun of the way he rides the bicycle, not to mention his technique of dropping mail into the letter box. Compare this with your lot as a writer. Not half as bad really!! After all you are only saddled with cryptic critics who speak in riddles. You just have to put your so-called-brain through some extra grind to decode the enigmatic comments he leaves behind for you to decipher. A much better life than the poor postman’s, don’t you think??

After much thought, circling the critique and looking at it from all possible angles, I have unraveled the mystery and have hit upon this brilliant idea. Brilliant by duffer standards of course!! I have decided to start watching all the movies that have ever been released in this big bad world. Carrying it one step ahead I am going to read up all the books ever written too. Once this mission is accomplished and only then I am going to write a story using characters, vehicles, emotions and incidents that have not occurred in any of them. Oh boy, that will be a story to reckon with. Just you wait!!

The wilted bloom…

Words spouted

Meanings twisted

Feelings shredded

Broken hearted

Love thwarted

Insides knotted

Dreams exploded

The bloom wilted

Eyes clouded

With tears blinded

Breathe suspended

Life has ended.

-Shail Mohan (May 2008)

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Uncle Narayan

- A short story

The family huddle was in full swing in our drawing room. There was old Uncle Narayan sitting with a frown on his face looking like a bear on a bad morning, not that I’ve had chance to meet bears on their bad mornings! Next to him sat Mrs.Roshan, beautiful soul, face downcast, a little embarrassed perhaps, but still her dignified self. Not being part of the family she had been reluctant to join this meeting. But Uncle had insisted. Good God, the wily old fox had her hand in his. Good for you Uncle, I thought smiling! At the other end of the room was another frowning face, that of Nitesh, his son. In an adjacent sofa sat Nitesh’s wife Rita, a bored look on her face. I was flitting in and out of the kitchen, cooking as also listening in on this all important discussion. Discussion, my foot! Where the heck was the need for any discussion and for so long?? I was about to explode. Hari was giving me warning glances. We have been married for three years. Long enough, I think, to gauge each others moods and intentions. He knew I was all set to jump into the fray and give a piece of my mind.

I still remember the day Hari announced Uncle Narayan’s impending visit. Probably he had some work in the city office about his pension.

“How long??” I had asked mentally trying to adjust my work load for the next few days.

“Umm…errr..”

I was puzzled.

“Well??”

“Its sort of like umm..”

I shot him an exasperated look.

“Some months…” He blurted out quickly before I sent something flying at him.

Whaaat??” I almost shouted. Oh my God!! Did he mean months?? Of course he must have or else he wouldn’t have said it. And I had been thinking on the lines of a day or two, maybe even ten days. Aaaargh!! This was going to be a problem!!

Oh, don’t get me wrong!! I’m not one of those wives who don’t like having their spouse’s relatives over for a long stay. I get along pretty well with them except for the odd sharp-tongued aunt or a spoilt brat who insists on dismantling my laptop. But… Uncle Narayan?? That stuffy old gentleman, with ex-army written all over him, who lived by a chronometer, whose disapproving silent glare was enough to make me feel like a worm?? Oh God, what was I going to do?? My house had no rules at all. I mean how could we?? Hari and I both had jobs. Life was a mad rush. I usually dragged myself out of bed in the mornings, awakened Prachi my two year old baby, readied her and finished the morning chores as best as I could. While Hari coaxed Prachi to have some breakfast I could just get ready on time. There was absolute madness when the maid played truant. Prachi had to be dropped off at the play-school on my way to the office. Hari’s office lay a good distance away in the opposite direction. For a week or two I could take some time off. But some MONTHS!! Would I’ve to cook all those elaborate traditional meals day in and day out for that long?? Oh God!! I shuddered at the thought.

I glared at Hari.

“Why months??

“ Well.. It’s like this… could take pretty long….”

“Whaaat??”

“Nitesh and Rita are moving back to India with their children. They are building a new house over the old one. So I offered that Uncle could stay with us…”

I rolled my eyes. “Softie!” I muttered. Uncle Narayan had been a pillar of support to Hari’s family during tough times, and they had a soft spot for him.

“I’ll try and reach home earlier” he said. “Don’t worry… we’ll manage.”

I sighed and nodded. I had no clue but we had to somehow. That’s how Uncle Narayan came to stay with us.

I was back in the kitchen stirring the vegetables. The silence in the drawing room was getting to me. The only sounds were from the ladle stirring the vegetables in the kitchen and Prachi singing to herself amidst her toys. I switched off the stove and busied myself with the salad.

Dad please think again about your decision”

Nothing to rethink” was Uncle Narayan’s gruff reply.

Nitesh, its no big deal you know…” Rita drawled, while admiring her own nails. I have wondered how she would adjust to life away from the big city after their return to India.

Times have changed. It’s his life… he has every right to live it his way…” she continued.

I looked at her with newfound respect. She wasn’t the mere social butterfly I thought her to be.

Shut up!” Nitesh said irritably. Rita shrugged her shoulders and went back to admiring her nails. The deepening frown on Uncle’s face told me that he disliked the way Nitesh spoke to Rita.

It was Prachi’s bed time. As I tucked her in my thoughts drifted to the day I had carelessly left some important papers back home.

It was almost three months since Uncle’s arrival. That day had been exceptionally hectic. The maid had played truant. In my hurry I forgot an important document. I rushed home during lunch hour to get it. My new footwear was killing me. To compound things, the lift wasn’t working. What a perfect day!! I slipped off my footwear and holding it in one hand, my handbag in the other, wearily started climbing the stairs. We live on the seventh floor. Just as I was about to step on to the landing I overheard a voice,

“Sumi, you know I’ve loved you always..”

I literally rocked on my heels. That was Uncle Narayan’s voice. He was hidden from my view as I hadn’t yet stepped on the landing. Obviously he was standing right in front of our door talking to someone. Sumi?? Who was Sumi?? I suppressed an insane desire to giggle. I couldn’t for the life of me digest the fact of that stuffy old Colonel expressing eternal love for some Sumi.

I heard soft laughter. I reeled yet again. I knew that laugh!! I am still surprised I am alive to tell this tale. I should have fallen down the stairs and broken my neck just then. I was so shocked. That was my neighbor Mrs.Roshan’s laugh! She was a cheerful lady of about sixty, a widow, living by herself on her husband’s meager pension. She had no immediate family, but for those of us staying in the apartment block she was family. She was always there for any one in need. It was to her that I ran with all my little joys and woes. She was the one who helped me out by looking after Prachi the odd day that both Hari and I got delayed at work. She was my surrogate mother! But… when I had introduced Uncle and her, neither had said a word about knowing each other!!

“No!” said Hari in surprise when I recounted the day’s happenings.

“Yesss!” I said. “I tip-toed back down the stairs, wore those damned shoes that were killing my feet and made plenty of noise to announce my arrival!”

“..and??” he asked.

“Aunt Sumi…” here I giggled for no reason, “was sitting right there reading the newspaper and Uncle was in his room”

“Nitesh is not going to like this,” Hari said thoughtfully.

I raised my eyebrows. Hari took it as a sign that I would launch into one of my lectures on individuals and their freedom. He hurriedly said,

“Oh! I agree with you… I was only telling you how Nitesh would take it…”

Anyway we decided to leave the love-birds to their vintage romance.

Prachi was asleep. I wondered if the ‘discussion’ was over and whether I should lay the table for dinner. It was no fun having dinner with frowning, sullen faces. Rita looked at me and smiled as I walked in.

Help??” she asked.

No thanks Rita. I only have to lay the table”

Our exchange seemed to wake Hari from a self-induced trance. He hated scenes of any sort. He turned to Nitesh and said,

Nitesh, please…”

You can say that! It’s not your father who’s getting married to his childhood sweetheart at seventy!” He glared at Aunty and continued, “Gosh I will be the laughing stock! I decide to return to India and this immortal romance awaits me!!” The last four words had a sarcastic ring.

Times have changed Nitesh” my bright husband said repeating Rita’s words. I almost expected Nitesh to say, ‘shut up’ in reply. Mercifully he refrained. He sat with his head in his hand imitating a Greek tragedian. I rolled my eyes at Hari and walked into the kitchen.

Two days after I had overheard Uncle Narayan professing his love for Sumi we found him clearing his throat at the breakfast table. Yes, we had actually begun to sit down to a proper breakfast after Uncle’s arrival. No more TV dinners too. The house was a lot more orderly. His disciplined demeanor was having an overall good effect on our lives. My heart warmed the way Prachi had bonded with him. The gruff exterior he presented to the world was largely a facade. He now offered to ply Prachi to and from her play-school on my busy days. He even insisted on cutting the veggies when he saw my frenzied activity trying to balance kitchen and office work.

Hari looked up from his newspaper on hearing Uncle. Having caught his eye, Uncle Narayan said,

“I’ve something to tell you both.”

What he said was simple and to the point. He and Mrs.Roshan were childhood sweethearts but some silly family quarrel had thwarted their wedding plans. Aunt Sumi’s family had moved away while he was away at work. Though no efforts were spared to trace them, he hadn’t been successful. Years later both had succumbed to family pressure, married people chosen by their respective families and settled down. But they hadn’t forgotten each other. It was a real surprise for them to meet again after all these years. Now they wanted to get married. Hari and I were like her own hence he was telling us. Nitesh would be down soon and Uncle was going to tell him too. He wanted to register their marriage as soon as possible and take Aunt back with him to the new house. I found it all so romantic. I glanced at Hari. I swear he had tears in his eyes.

And here I was rolling my eyes at Hari because Nitesh felt that Uncle was making a fool of himself in his old age. I must say I was pretty annoyed with Nitesh. The man was an idiot! Listening to him going on I pitied Rita, her life with him.

What will other relatives say?? How will I look them in the face??” he lamented. “Why can’t you be like other old people and spend the rest of your life praying?? Do you have to act so foolishly??” He went on in this vein even asking his father if he had ever loved his mother, who was now long gone. He wasn’t going to allow this marriage to take place he said with finality, and if his father went against his wishes, the new house was closed for him.

Excuse me” I said ignoring Hari’s warning glance.

Uncle and Aunt are going to get married because it’s their life. It’s that plain and simple to understand. They’re adults and have a right to live life their way. Their age doesn’t preclude love life and they don’t have to accept your vision of what’s right and wrong. You are refusing him a place in the house that he bequeathed you?? Shame on you!! And for your kind information, they’re going to stay with me, not you!”

Nitesh and Rita didn’t stay for dinner that night. They left soon after despite Hari’s pleas. Uncle didn’t say a word, just nodded when he took leave. Remorse was eating me for having spoken thus to Nitesh. But I knew things would be alright soon when Rita winked at me as she followed Nitesh out.

* * *

The wedding took place at the local Registrar’s office. The wily fox had made all arrangements in advance. There were sly snickers from some of those present. The couple was least bothered. Nitesh seemed sensitive still. Oh yes, Nitesh and Rita attended. Rita’s wink had meant something! Before leaving Rita and I exchanged addresses. Yeah we had become good friends. I found that there was substance behind that bored social-butterfly mask of hers. Uncle is staying next door with Aunt. The work on the new house has started. Now Uncle is in no hurry to finish it. Neither am I. Having been offered a better job Nitesh has postponed plans of returning to India. I wonder if he did that for fear of facing his relatives. And oh, did I tell you Uncle told Aunt that my kadai paneer was worth dying for? Yup, that’s why I am grinning.

Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com

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A flaw in this picture perfect…

A flaw in this picture perfect

The colors seem to conflict

What color shall I highlight??

I know not what is right

When I dab some soft yellow

You say it is too mellow

So many shades of the color blue

You feel none are the right hue

Will bright green do the trick??

From the colors take your pick

Violet orange or maybe indigo

Which one shall make it glow??

It is always your say.

I have no role to play

So make the conflict go away

Color it your own way…

-Shail Mohan (June 2008)

Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape


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